


A Joy To Come

by kitagod



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu Deserves A Hug, Character Study, Introspection, Language of Flowers, M/M, Minor Unrequited Love, OE, Open Ending, Osamu appears for 1 second, Pining Miya Atsumu, Rewritten version of an old fic, Uncertainty, ambiguous ending, kingdom and flowers metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitagod/pseuds/kitagod
Summary: About Atsumu's journey of finding love, finding the flower, finding his joy.Rewritten version of "A Joy To Come".
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 20
Kudos: 177





	A Joy To Come

**Author's Note:**

> For AJ. I really can't do this without you. 
> 
> This is rewritten version for my old fic with the same name "A Joy To Come". I have always wanted to write an Atsumu character study, so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity for it, and changed things up. 
> 
> The old version is completely different from this one, I wrote it about 3 months ago so there's a huge difference in the writing, in the narrator, basically it took a 180 degree turn, but the plot is still the same. You can check it out if you want to! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Miya Atsumu is, above all else, human. 

He is born with a name, with a body of two arms and two legs wrapped with a layer of smooth skin. He cries loudly during the first hours as a baby. His father swallows the tears down when he cradles a newborn Atsumu into his loving arms. He is taken home, with a towel covering his tiny body, cheeks still red. 

He grows up with roles to fulfill; a good son to his parents and a supportive brother to his twin. Though he is far too young to realize how the world circles around, nor can he comprehend what will happen to him, he knows from the get-go that, albeit the speck of dust he is, his role doesn’t stop there. 

There are million specks of dust among other billion specks of dust, they clash and wrestle, sometimes scratch over each other, as embodiment of the edifice of how this world runs. It reminds him of how small he is, almost invisible in the eyes of God. 

_Almost._

It’s something that is bound to happen - Atsumu chases after glories with unquenched hunger, fingers moulded into steel, so he can battle long and under solidity.

That is Miya Atsumu, a human, and so the boy takes wings and leaps into the universe ahead. 

  
\---

He finds his voice in volleyball. In the welcoming moment of the age ten, he meets volleyball, with fine hands and dry feet. All are such new experiences, smoky settlement and glacier-like pathways, and he is tempted to walk on them. 

It is painful. It is hard. It is of sweat mingling with tears and muscles burning like wildfire. The fog in Atsumu’s helplessness has never once cleared, yet he refuses to cease and continues to surge forward, with footsteps louder than thunder and power that wreaks havoc on his opponent's ground. He is never the quitter. 

His body is born for volleyball, and luckily his heart beats for it, too. Every itching day he trains himself, sweat becoming a shower. Leather skin on the ball is his second skin. He finds his voice within volleyball, the sound of it slamming the ground is his most profound language. 

He won’t stop until they breathe defeat. He won’t surrender until the ball fitted right in his palm carries dominance. 

This boy, a speck of dust in the vast universe, starts to earn his battle scars as medals of courage. Broken fingertips and bleeding toes. And he takes pride in wearing them. 

His hands learn how to be brutal and merciless. His name becomes a sting on opponents' tongues. Eventually, with his monstrous growth, his own teammates start to throw him stink eyes every now and then, to which he pays no mind. Like a speck of dust he is, like a speck of dust they are, they are bound to scratch over at some point. 

Over time, he realizes that he would have to find a place to secure himself. 

Miya Atsumu, at the age twelve, is lost in a land the universe had dropped him down on, with balls bouncing off the mahogany walls resonating a loud “thump” and nothing more.

At the peak of age fifteen, the boy learns that volleyball has become blood in his veins. Each set is dignity. Each fingertip is nothing less than his beating heart. So he builds a kingdom for himself, by the hands that catch balls with ease and send them back a hundred times more deafening. 

He sits on the throne, wearing the glories of youth. It fits him well.

\---

There is a garden that exists behind the lavish, brilliant-white walls. 

Twenty-five steps below the vestibule and five steps down from where he's standing. Contrast to his palace’s grandeur, it’s empty, it's a lone field - dry and stark with the dullest grey. There is no lingering fragrance nor mark of footsteps, simply a deserted land. Though he insists on calling it a “garden" anyhow. 

There is also a garden behind his childhood home, he recalls. 

Where his father collects flaring sunlight on his back and cossets each petal with utmost care. Where he gently scoops Atsumu’s hands in his, dirt sticking on his fingertips, and shows him how to plant a flower down. His father has always been a flower-lover, and at some point, he even hopes Atsumu will share the same interest as him.

Atsumu, unfortunately, does not speak the flower’s language. His father does, though, and he can pinpoint his mother does, too. If not, she would have rejected the confession over a bouquet of butter daisies.

Eventually, he remembers this. It’s an old piece of information in his father’s book that he stumbles upon. 

_Page 36_

_**Butter Daisy** _

_**Symbolic Meanings:**_ _Faith | Innocence | Loyal love;_

 _ **Possible Powers:**_ _Divination for love_

He questions himself the first thing, as his eyes trail down lines of locution that have been put into great consideration. _Flowers have meanings?_

He flips the pages, back and forth, a bit aimless, and stops at one particular flower. 

_Page 107_

_**Nasturtium** _

_**Symbolic Meanings:**_ _Victory in Battle | Maternal love | Conquest | Warlike trophy;_

He leans back on the wooden shelf, eyebrows scrunching as if he's deeply in thought. _When you give flowers to someone, their meanings will say everything about your intention. That's why I gave butter daisies, not just any daisies, to mom._

And so the next day, his mother buys him a whole bunch of Nasturtium. They are hung in the garden of their home, right above the wooden platform where he usually sits and admires the endless night sky, where he floats and swims in his dreams. 

The flowers strike a change. He re-visits the pool of stars, only to see it drown in a pool of flames. The orange shade from Nasturtium bears fire and burns slowly, dying his skin into the same glorious colour. 

He absorbs the victory they bring, and considers it a blessing. 

The next thing he knows, he’s already learning the language of flowers.

  
\---

Except for his father, no one has ever spoken this language to him before, probably because it is a rare possibility for Miya Atsumu - the one who favours volleyball above all - to actually indulge in flowers and their underlying meanings. 

For the longest time, he briefly ponders on what flowers to plant. It can be his mother's favourite daisies, or his father's violets that stand out the most among other kinds. Or corn lilies to pay tribute to Osamu, but he's not going to tell him that. 

Yet, despite all the fort that he has given to please his father, Atsumu is not befitted for it still. 

_You dug too deep; Gently place them down, careful not to drop them; Don't touch the petals, Atsumu, you always pluck them out somehow; Just… go sit down, Atsumu, you will get your hands dirty out here._

And so his father takes all of the work instead as he retreats back to his usual spot on the wooden platform, watching quietly, hands ball into fists out of frustration. Calluses on his palms press hard against the skin, at some point it hurts. Perhaps that is why his father doesn't like it when he strokes the petals. _Those hands are not used to fragile things,_ he said. 

In the end, he goes back to volleyball, where his not-so-gentle, vehement hands are born for. Back to his throne, where he makes declarations that are more eloquent than anyone else can. 

  
\---

The first time he lays his eyes on Hinata, he immediately thinks of a flower: meadow buttercup. Though to be truthful, he doesn't expect to have a single thought about flowers in the middle of watching a match, yet it comes to him uninvitedly anyways. 

Now one may wonder, or he may wonder: Why? _Why a meadow buttercup?_ Especially when he’s standing next to the balcony while the boy is fighting down below. Like a goddamn king he is, sitting on the throne and watching the match unfold. It’s quite haughty of him, and since when does Atsumu heed gratuitous opinions?

The boy jumps to the ball that Tobio-kun just sent, and slams it down. Fast. Needless to say Atsumu is impressed, even after seeing it for the third time. 

_Why a meadow buttercup?_ A question that is nothing short of its answer - confusing, lost, unknown. Hinata is boisterous, tinged with madness, is nothing like the fragile, silky petals of a flower that he can smash and crush with his bare hands. 

“Hey ‘Tsumu!” A shout comes from downstairs, it takes Atsumu a moment to realize that Osamu is calling out to him. He lets out a grunt, tries to ignore his brother and resumes his focus on the match. 

“‘Tsumu!” 

_I'm gonna kill this bastard._ “Spit it out!” He shouts down. 

“Kita-san will be mad if ya stay up there any longer!” 

“Just a sec! I need to get somethin' done!”

“Gettin' what done?”

“None of yer business! Leave me alone, I’ll come down once I finish!”

“...Be quick!” 

He doesn’t hear anything after then, though the slight interruption is enough to make him deeply pissed. _Fuckin' bastard._

Shoving the irritation to one side, Atsumu slides his gaze back to the game - eyes reflecting the whole match, and mind drifts to a player. 

The boy slams the ball down with the same force as before. Atsumu's lips curl up to a smirk. Feisty. He then turns to high-five other players, and for a flashing moment, his eyes meet Atsumu's brown ones, before parting away as quickly as they come. 

Even when the game has resumed and the boy scores another point, Atsumu's throat still hasn't let go of the barricade. 

_I might or might not know why._ The same hunger that drives Atsumu to where he is right now, one that fuels his appetite and leads him to further, possibly greater in the future. Not even Osamu shares this trait with him, but rather a player who is a year younger than him, scrawnier, little and blessed with speed and imposing vertical jump.

Hastily, he packs up his things and leaves the stadium. He doesn't pay attention to the insult Suna shoots at him, nor Osamu's “What the fuck took ya so long?!” 

He stays quiet during the remainder of the ride back to their hotel. His face is painted a grim expression. His mouth flattens to a distressing straight line.

_I won’t fall for this again._

  
\---

He clutches the shovel in his hand and makes the first dig. 

  
\---

As far as he knows, the bookshelf in the basement of his house contains only one book that belongs to himself. He’s not proud of it, but at least it's better than Osamu having none. 

“Language of the flowers,” Osamu says to no one in particular, but he makes it loud enough for Atsumu to hear him. “For what?” 

Atsumu lets out an annoyed sigh. “Ya wouldn't care anyways.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit.” replied Osamu. Atsumu resists the urge to punch him in the jaw. “I'm askin', why did ya buy it?”

“...’did not buy it.” Atsumu mumbles weakly, not turning his head to face the other. “Dad gave it to me.”

“Why? Because ya like flowers? I gotta be honest with ya, ya can like whatever ya want in this world. Flowers, volleyball, boys-”

“Hey!”

“And I still don't care. It’s not like I have control over yer life. But ya do what ya want, I’m yer brother, I can't judge ya over something like this.”

Then Osamu hands him the book. The familiar cover meets his eyes, one that he has seen far too many times. Dropping the pen in his hand, ignoring the Math homework that is not as fun as volleyball, he takes the book and flips it from page to page. 

Before he knows it, Osamu has already left the room. 

That's the only one time he doesn’t want Osamu to leave, because he has so many more to talk about. About the flowers. About their meanings that he has engraved into his mind. About that particular boy that endows a meadow buttercup like little drops of sunshine.

There is no one here by his side since the start, only him and his dirt-covered hands taking a gander at the flowers, wondering if they will reach their peak. 

  
\---

Their fated game during Inter-high, one that he has despicably lost, brings destruction to his own kingdom. 

One might think that this is unfortunate for a player like Atsumu, to have everything he has built up with sweat and tears fallen down quicker than what time can have done. Normally it should have struck a somber note in a person’s life, given the fact that it is done all of a sudden. In the least expected way. 

Atsumu is different, though. He doesn't feel sad or disappointed, but rather he feels more... empowered. Hungrier, fuelled with such intensity that he can feel the burn in every single fiber inside of him, telling him to go, reach higher and further. _This is a new start._

It is never re-built, Atsumu swears not to touch a single dust from it. _At least this garden is safe,_ he thinks, as he waters the flowers with something he cannot name.

  
\---

The second time he meets the boy- Hinata, is when the younger just got recruited into Black Jackals, fresh from Brazil. 

Atsumu takes pleasure in watching Hinata’s plays. He misses the jumps, the echoes from the sound of the ball slamming down with sheer force that is so familiar. Atsumu gathers everything in his irises, how Hinata flies to the sun in Brazil and receives the ball with feet pressing hard on the land in Japan. Long gone the scrawny little boy, now he grows into a fitting one hundred and seventy-two centimeters glimmering with all the scintillations alike. 

Atsumu wonders himself if Hinata is still the little meadow buttercup that he had imagined. 

“Atsumu-san, hope I can be in your care!”

Hinata grins, bright and confident. Sweats trickling from his forehead, down to his neck and puffy chest. Atsumu’s eyes involuntarily follow the bead, then they zoom out, and he finds himself gobsmacked by the looks of Hinata alone.

He has grown in size, with his beefy arms and ridiculously muscular thighs. Like a damn Greek God he has built into. Copper eyes shine with pride and inflaming hunger, as if everything is falling down under his feet and hunted to be his prey. Brazil has done him good. 

_Hinata is no longer the meadow buttercup._

He understands, from the ruins of his kingdom - it’s the same hunger that might eat him alive, but it has grown into something far-fetched than Atsumu can grasp onto.

_What is he?_

He takes all the stars in the universe down and goes through them one by one, asking, contemplating, observing the hows and whys and thereofs.

He has learned how to be patient. He didn’t rush when his team was one point away from victory, nor when Osamu decided to take a different path. Probably for the very first time, a human being, a man, has him so curious and itching for an answer.

_What is it that he has grown into?_

Hinata spikes the ball down, releasing a shout of satisfaction after several attempts to do a “freak quick”. Not the “freak quick” that crashed into his kingdom seven years ago, but the one that may re-build the glory of his own land. 

Atsumu wipes away the sweats on his forehead with his towel, listening to Hinata’s gleeful voice boasting about the new weapon that he and Atsumu have sharpened only one day after his first join.

“Atsumu-san! Your tosses are so cool! They match my hands perfectly and are so easy to hit!”

The sparkles in Hinata’s eyes are not an illusion. Atsumu thinks they look like the pool of stars of the night sky in his childhood home. With a smirk, he responds, hopefully his usual snarky self won’t scare Hinata away.

“Is that so? Then I expect ya to spike, and score, with every toss I send ya, got it?” He stresses. “I have high expectations.”

“Of course!” Hinata beams. “I will spike every toss you send to me, Atsumu-san!” 

Then he draws closer, almost skin-to-skin contact with the taller. Discreetly, he whispers, his mirror-like eyes reflecting Atsumu's baffling face. “I'm not the person who I was in the past.”

Atsumu curses under his breath. 

In the corner of his eyes, he notices how Sakusa eyes both of them weirdly, how he retreats back to his own bench and bows down and re-ties his shoelaces. 

He shifts his gaze to Bokuto, who is talking cheerfully with captain Meian about whatever in this world that excites him. He can never make out why Bokuto has so much enthusiasm piled up into one body alone.

Atsumu turns his attention to the whole gym, draws in the eyes the view of the place where his dream came true. A place that he can flourish under the hands of many monsters alike. 

And yet, his orbs return back to one, just like the first ever match he watched Hinata play. 

He’s achingly beautiful under his glowing, tanned skin, thanks to the rigorous beach volleyball training. His flaming hair and flaming eyes, and body toned like it’s hand-crafted by God. When he jumps, his defined abs and thick thighs unconventionally peek under his clothes. And Atsumu’s mouth goes dry in a way that he has expected.

Hinata is perfect. His beauty is simply unmatched. 

And that is when he finally sees - the flower that leaves a trail whenever Hinata's foot lands on the ground. 

_Page 213_

_**Persian Buttercup**_

_**Symbolic Meanings:**_ _Ambition | Attractive | Beautiful | You are radiant with charm;_

And with that, Atsumu falls into this bottomless pit of helplessness. 

  
\---

He digs deep into the ground, and shoves the dirt aside. That's his third dig, _Not this one,_ as he replaces the seed after throwing away the wilted meadow buttercups. 

  
\---

Love has never smiled at Atsumu. 

It dates back to when he first discovered that he's gay, at the time his muscles ached due to growing bones and his teenage heart was curious about love. Ever since he was young, he has heard about the love stories from his old and new neighbours. They were different - different people fell in love in different ways, but their stories always shared the same calibre.

“Love has been kind.” 

“Love came to us very naturally.”

“Love gives us a beam of hope.”

and “I'm sure your love will treat you with kindness, Atsumu.”

His first crush was not so kind. He confessed, and got his heart broken. 

He talked about it to Osamu. There were some pats, free ice-cream, and a few encouraging words. One was like, “There are many people in this world. Yer heart shouldn't stop at one only. Just move on.”

And so he did. And so he got his heart broken, twice. This one was more brutal, he didn't want to talk about it. 

Osamu kept telling him from time to time. “Move on. Just shake it off and move on.”

He got his heart broken for the third time. Then another one, then he stopped. The love that has ever been so kind and sounded magical in his ears became foreign. 

Love was anything but kindness. It grew spikes on his body and thorns in his words, stitched onto him cruelly, unforgivingly. 

Love stories shared the same calibre. His, they all come and go. 

  
\---

His grandmother said to him, holding his hand. _Yer love life is quite bumpy, Atsumu. Mainly because yer too hard on everyone, and on yerself, too. So loosen up, let yer heart roam free and discover on its own._

  
\---

The journey studying his love for Hinata is full of changes. A trial full of errors. He’s pretty much like a lost student, understanding nothing but still embracing what may come. And the first lesson that he picks up is how to treat things with a more gentle demeanour. A more sophisticated way that won't bring him regret later on. 

_Like it's your lover, or your heart. Or our dog that we just adopted - you never want to crush them._ His father said, and so he listens. 

He is still skeptical, constantly watching his back, watching the front, watching what the world has in store for him.

 _Be patient, and be kind. Treat them like when you’re treating flowers._

Hinata is another speck of dust in Atsumu’s life. They have wrestled and crashed, they are the authors of each other’s injuries, both merciful and less. Just like his own scars and previous cracks, even when injuries are healed, are treated and mended, he can never forget the pain they bring, as if it is a dire reminder: do not forget him. 

He can never forget Hinata. He won't be able to. 

  
\---

He re-visits the garden as often as he can, since it's the only place he can return to. Though its dreary state and colorlessness might not be the one thing that makes his day, he is a hopeless gardener who is somewhat patient. 

He believes, after pulling out the knowledge he gradually learns over time. _Not all flowers can bloom on your land. Not all flowers can fit into your garden._

He watches flowers grow and stop. Its cycle halts without warning. He is forced to take them out and leaves the place for another one. 

But he will do it again, and again. Digging his hands down the mud until the flesh of his skin is nothing but dirt and bites. Scourging the ground. Planting a new seed. Watering it. Kissing the petals like the sun kissing his cheeks all mornings arrive. Even if it takes him a million times, those million times would be the million stars in his universe combined. 

Atsumu doesn't have high hopes. His shit-eating grin may show the opposite - a confident bastard with a good look. The truth is, he's nowhere near confident. He is wilted, he is afraid, it’s crippling him from the inside. 

And Atsumu is never the quitter. _The right one will come, eventually._

  
\---

They won the match against Schweiden Adlers'. Surrounded by blaring cheers and his teammates' shouting, and Hinata bristling with jubilation, Atsumu feels like suffocating him in the tightest, warmest hug. 

The scene is chaotic and uproarious. Of course, MSBY has just snatched a victory away from the long-time champion, fair and square and convincing, thanks to a little boost from the rookie Hinata. 

As his setter, his current setter, Atsumu is more than proud of Hinata. He has done a great job on breaking the opponents’ grounds into pieces, just like what he did seven years ago. Now that he thinks about it, he and Hinata are quite the same, too. 

“Tsum-Tsum! What’s the long face? We just won!” Bokuto pats him on the back, doesn’t even bother to hide his innocent cheshire-like grin. 

“Hell yeah we just won.” He replies, his voice is almost swallowed by the cheers around. “Feels great to win. Finally beat their asses.”

Bokuto lets out a shriek of laughter. “Hell _yeah_ we just beat their asses. Look around! Everyone is cheering for us!”

He does as Bokuto told. He scans over the stage he is standing on, and his eyes stop at one particular view. A person.

It has always been this person. 

Catching his lingering gaze, the person sends him a smile, then a wave. Atsumu feels his heart might burst; it's unfathomable to him how his little heart, his _mended_ heart can hold this much devotion for one person only. 

In the face of adversity, he isn't sure if his feelings are mutual. But he will risk it this time. Not all love will be reciprocated, though his is genuine.

From the mud come flowers as golden as sunshines, flourishing and vigorously blooming as candle flames that burn warm and long. Hinata to him, is a celandine, meaning a “joy to come”. 

And he will wait, as patient as he always is, waiting for his joy to come his way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration with the amazing, talented [@hq_shouchan](https://twitter.com/hq_shouchan) (via Twitter) so please check out their artwork for this fic! [Link](https://twitter.com/hq_shouchan/status/1302775559987044353?s=20).
> 
> Thank you Viv, Isa, Sar for taking time to help and support me. I can't finish this without you.  
> Thank you to those who took time to give this a read and gave me encouragement. You gave me the energy that I didn't know I needed.  
> Much thanks to AJ again.  
> If you want to scream with me, here's my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kitagodsuke)! I mostly scream about Kita and Kita fox, and silly things, but I'd love to chat with you and be friends!  
> All of the information about flowers are taken from the book written by S. Theresa Dietz called "Floriography Today: The Symbolic Meanings and The Possible Powers of Trees, Plants and Flowers". 
> 
> If you like this fic please do leave a comment and kudos! I'd really appreciate it and thank you from the bottom of my heart.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
